


just take aim (i do this all for you)

by amiphobic



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amiphobic/pseuds/amiphobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is this your guys’ messed up idea of a date or something?”</p><p>“No,” Shaw said, scowling.</p><p>“Oh Sameen,” Root said smugly, “what’s more romantic than shooting up a warehouse full of criminals on Valentine’s Day?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	just take aim (i do this all for you)

**Author's Note:**

> Set in S4, AU in which Samaritan did not come online.
> 
> Title from Beyonce's Yonce/Partition.

The scrape of key against lock alerted Shaw, and she had her gun in hand and aimed at the doorway before the handle had even turned. The wooden door swung open, and the intruder strode in, all black leather and nonchalance.

“Hey, sweetie,” her unwelcome guest said, completely unfazed by the pistol in their face.

“Root,” Shaw grinded out. “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t you know what day it is?” Root asked brightly, striding past Shaw to access the kitchen.

“Your last,” Shaw said, the tip of her gun tracing Root’s movement, “if you even think of touching my stuff.”

“It’s February 14th,” Root said, continuing despite Shaw’s warning. She took a small bottle of nasal spray from the top drawer and turned to face Shaw, scrunching up her nose as she continued, “You really should keep track.”

“I know what day it is,” Shaw said, annoyed, but finally lowered her firearm.

“Just making sure,” Root said airily.

“What do you want, Root?”

“The Machine wants us to join forces for a mission,” Root said. “Something about us being a good team.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Shaw said, pointing an accusing finger.

“Saving the world with my gal pal?” Root asked, eyes widening in innocence.

“Stop talking before I change my mind,” Shaw said, pulling on her winter coat.

Root sidled up to Shaw as they headed out and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “It’d be more convincing if you’d used your three other locks, Sameen.”

Irritated by the observation, Shaw jabbed her elbow into Root’s stomach to push her away.

Give an inch, and Root would take the whole damn mile and then some.

* * *

“Hop on,” Root said and tossed Shaw a helmet.

Shaw gave an appreciative look as Root mounted her sleek black motorcycle.

“Thank God your taste in bikes is better than your taste in alcohol,” Shaw said, fitting the helmet over her head.

“The V Strom 650 ABS,” Root said, connecting a secure call with Shaw’s phone. Then slyly, “It’s a good ride.”

“I bet,” Shaw said, ignoring the innuendo, and slid on behind her. She braced her arms on either side of Root’s body, careful not to initiate too much contact.

Root started up the engine and guided them onto the main street with a smooth ease.

“Where we headed?” Shaw asked.

“ _Some_ _club_ ,” Root said, voice filtering over Shaw’s earpiece clearly. “ _But first, we need to change into something more… festive.”_

Root’s choice of wording didn't inspire much confidence.

Shaw groaned internally.

* * *

Pulling to a stop outside a luxury apartment complex, Root waited for Shaw to dismount before she followed suit. They left their helmets on the seat of the bike, and Root led the way into the lobby, shoulder pushing against the glass revolving door.

“I know what you’re doing,” Shaw said once again.

Root just smiled.

“Ms. Allen!” The woman behind the front table waved them down, “So good to see you again.”

“You too, Charlene,” Root said charmingly. “How’s George?”

“Great! Thank you so much for recommending Dr. Fitzgerald to us,” Charlene said so sincerely it made Shaw’s teeth hurt. She buzzed them past the security doors, and as Root and Shaw passed by to access the elevators, Charlene added to Root in a loud whisper, “By the way, your date is super cute.”

Murder flashed in Shaw’s eyes as soon as they were out of Charlene’s sight.

“She’s not wrong,” Root said teasingly.

“I’m not-“

_Ding!_

“Elevator’s here, honey,” Root said and brushed by Shaw and her objections as she entered the lift.

Shaw was sullen the entire ride up.

* * *

“You live here?” Shaw asked, swiveling as she filed away her stray observations.

It was rather upscale – large windows spanning the walls, granite counter tops glossy underneath the soft overhead lights, elegant glass sculptures occupying the corners.

“Something like that,” Root said, as evasive as ever, and nudged open the bedroom door.

“You should find a place with fewer windows,” Shaw mumbled, watching Root sift through the contents of the closet.

“Worried, Sameen?”

“No,” Shaw bit out.

Root gripped the fabric of one of the dresses and turned to Shaw, “How about this? I think you’d look great in red.”

“I’d look great in anything,” Shaw said, taking a closer look at the garment.

Root shot her a fond look.

“Why do you have my exact size?” Shaw asked with growing suspicion.

“Do I?” Root asked in faux surprise. “Coincidence, probably.”

Predictably unamused with her answer, Shaw ripped the dress out of Root’s hand and tossed it on the bed dismissively.

* * *

Shaw settled on a standard little black dress that fit her perfectly, and she briefly admired herself in the mirror before padding out of the bathroom barefoot.

“Shoes?”

Root spun around, clad only in her underwear and bra – simple black lace, and pointed to the second half of the closet. Shaw determinedly averted her eyes as casually as possible and attempted to find a pair of heels her size.

But Root noticed anyway.

“Enjoy the view?”

Shaw grumbled, “Don't flatter yourself.”

Root smiled knowingly and slipped into a dazzling green dress, turning her back to Shaw. “Zip?”

Shaw obliged, and Root maintained heated eye contact as Shaw’s fingers brushed up Root’s bare back.

She shook her head.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Root ordered her personal limousine to pick them up from the complex shortly afterwards. It was high-end with long leather seats, fiber-optic red lighting, a 42” flat screen, and – more importantly – a fully stocked minibar and drinking cabinet.

Realistically, Shaw knew it was a collaboration between Root and the Machine, but top shelf was top shelf – no way Shaw would turn it down.

Root settled in opposite of Shaw and reached out for a particular bottle, saying, “Octomore.”

Shaw grabbed a whiskey glass from the cabinet and held it out expectantly. The driver must have opened the bottle just before their arrival, Shaw surmised, as she watched Root pour out a generous amount.

She took a tentative first sip, fleetingly considering that maybe Root had drugged or poisoned it. That thought flew out of her head as she closed her eyes to savor the peaty flavor. Tipping the glass, Shaw took a larger gulp, relishing the fiery warmth that spread from her chest to the pit of her stomach.

And fine, Root using her software omniscience like this wasn't something Shaw could really complain about.

“You any good at a Latvian accent?” Root asked offhandedly.

“Better than your French accent,” Shaw said and grabbed the bottle from Root.

Root pressed her thumb against the screen of her phone, and it played an audio clip, “ _Krista Balodis,_ ” and then after a short pause, “ _she’s my assistant… don’t touch her._ ”

“Practice it a few times,” Root said.

“Right,” Shaw said, sure that Root was messing with her.

A quick swig of whiskey later and Shaw was able to steel herself to go along with it anyway.

* * *

Buzzed and a lot less tense, Shaw let Root take her hand as they arrived at the club.

Snaking an arm around Shaw’s waist, Root guided them to the entrance and presented the hostess with an ID and VIP card. Shaw allowed Root the pleasure until they made it to the bar and then shrugged out of her embrace.

Accordingly, Root withdrew and stepped onto the dance floor, heels clacking against the glowing tiles. Root swayed to the slow and heavy beat and tossed an enticing look in Shaw’s direction.

Shaw shook her head, even as a small smile played on her lips, and ordered a glass of scotch. Root disappeared into the crowd of moving bodies.

“Hey, this seat taken?” A nicely dressed, broad-shouldered man gestured towards the space next to Shaw.

“Yes,” Shaw said, searching for Root within the mass of dancers.

“Oh,” he stood about awkwardly for a few moments longer.

“Leave,” Shaw ordered, focus never wavering.

He took the not-so-subtle hint and left.

“ _Let loose a little_ , _Sam,_ ” Root said breathily, hands in the air, drawing Shaw’s attention.

A woman in the tightest and sluttiest dress Shaw had ever seen danced up to Root, arms going around her neck languidly. Surprisingly, Root allowed it – even flashing a flirty grin, teeth showing dangerously.

Two songs later, Shaw set her glass down with a solid thud against the countertop and made her way through the enveloping crowd to the dance floor. Root immediately caught Shaw’s movement and ditched her current dance partner to drape herself over Shaw’s back.

“Count to sixteen,” Root said, hot breath tickling Shaw’s ear, “and then lead me down the hallway towards the restrooms.”

Despite the numerous questions that immediately came to mind, Shaw did as Root instructed, mentally counting up. At sixteen, she clasped Root’s hand on her waist and held on tightly as they pushed their way to the specified hallway.

They were halfway to the ladies’ room when Root unexpectedly tugged Shaw down an adjacent corridor.

“Where-“

Root lifted a finger to her mouth, gesturing for Shaw’s silence.

A bouncer turned the corner, and Root sprayed the air in front of him with the nasal spray she’d taken from Shaw’s apartment. He stumbled back, hand touching his throat in concern, eyes wide as he struggled to breathe. Then he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Root bent and injected epinephrine into his thigh, quickly discarding the materials back into her purse.

“What the hell was that, Root?” Shaw hissed as she pulled the comatose man to the side, elevating his feet to help restore normal blood flow.

“He’ll be fine,” Root assured, “in an hour or two. I've called the paramedics, so we've got about seventeen minutes.”

“Great, but _why_ did you do that?”

“We’re here to steal something,” Root said as if it should've been obvious, “and I don’t think he would've been too happy about that.”

“What? What are we stealing?”

“Something for our mission,” Root said slowly.

“You were serious about that?” Shaw’s eyebrows jumped up.

Understanding dawned on Root as she gave Shaw a matching incredulous look, “Did you think I lured you out under the _pretense_ of a mission?”

“No,” Shaw said, pointedly avoiding Root’s now smug gaze.

“And you agreed to come anyway,” Root said, pleasantly surprised at the realization.

Shaw rubbed her temple, irritated and blindsided. The whole Latvian accent thing was finally making sense.

“No,” she repeated. “Whatever, let’s just go steal whatever it is the Machine wants.”

“Sure thing, Shaw,” Root said, but her delighted expression indicated that she wasn't going to ever forget it.

Shaw kneeled outside the administrative office and picked the lock, fingers deftly working. A few seconds later her efforts were rewarded with a click, and she held the door open for Root.

The interior of the office was lit with blue neon lights lining the wall with a long aquarium spanning the perimeter. Pulling back a pornographic painting on the back wall, Root exposed the owner’s personal safe.

“Unoriginal,” Shaw muttered under her breath. She leaned against the doorway to keep watch for any approaching personnel.

“I’m going to need some help with the combination,” Root said sweetly. After a pause, Root twisted the two dials expertly, directed by the Machine’s ascending and descending tones. The safe door popped open, and Root withdrew a small pouch and a USB.

“Got what you need?”

“Absolutely,” Root said, setting everything back into place.

* * *

Root sauntered down the street - Shaw hot on her heels - and passed Shaw a handle she’d swiped from the bar on their way out.

Whiskey – 18 years old. Shaw turned it in her hands.

“We’ll need it later,” Root said as she handed a slip of paper to the parking valet.

“Where’d you get a car?”

“Fast and loose back there.”

“Who?” Shaw asked. “You just described about everyone in that club.”

“Tight white dress,” Root recounted lightly. “Couldn't keep her hands off me.”

“Oh, her,” Shaw said dully.

“Don't be jealous," Root teased. "I was only in it for her car."

Aggravated, Shaw asked, “What could I possibly be jealous over? STDs?"

The valet brought around a jet black Porsche Boxster and stepped out, handing the keys to Root.

“I've also got a suitcase in the booth for you from a gentleman – Mr. Wren?” The valet wheeled out a heavy duty piece of luggage and handed it off to Root. She tipped him with a folded hundred dollar bill and a sunny smile.

“Catch,” Root said, tossing the keys to Shaw.

She caught them with her free hand, eyes lighting up.

“You better not be pulling my leg,” Shaw said with a grin, Root’s previous grievances completely forgiven.

“Of course not,” Root said, hoisting the suitcase into the trunk.

* * *

 “Where are we headed?” Shaw asked, now seated comfortably in the driver’s seat. She set aside the whiskey and laid her hands on the wheel appreciatively.

“Down to the docks,” Root said, black fingernails tapping against the arm rest, and smirked. “We've got a party to crash.”

They parked in a lot about a block down from the harbor, and Shaw popped open the trunk – remembering to grab the alcohol before exiting as well.

“What’s in this thing?” Shaw asked, waving her other hand at the case.

Root entered the code 3141 (Harold was _such_ a nerd honestly) and lifted the top, uncovering a necessary treasure trove inside: comfortable black clothing with matching boots and assorted weaponry.

“Good old Finch,” Shaw said fondly. “Where is he anyway?”

“Harry and his helper monkey have their own mission,” Root said. “Though they’re definitely not having half as much fun as we are.”

“I haven’t even shot anyone yet,” Shaw said. “Can’t really count as fun.”

“Patience, Sameen,” Root said cloyingly.

* * *

They stripped hurriedly lest they be arrested for indecency and pulled on the change of clothes – Shaw in her black overcoat and slacks and Root in her leather jacket and black jeans. The dresses and purses were dumped unceremoniously into the trunk.

Shaw withdrew her USP Compact and a spare Glock, tucking the latter into her waist holster. And then on second thought, fitted a boot knife in her right shoe. Root was less discriminatory and simply took two of the remaining pistols.

Shaw double-checked their gear, storing some extra ammunition in her pockets.

“You set?”

“Just about,” Root said, loading her guns, one each in hand.

“So where’s this party at?” Shaw asked, a wicked smile gracing her features.

“One of the Latvian mob’s lieutenants is celebrating his sixty-first birthday on that yacht over there. They rudely forgot to invite us,” Root said, feigning hurt.

“And so – what – we just show up, kick ass, and take some names?”

“Something like that,” Root said. “I guess we’ll find out.”

* * *

“Hey, hey,” the guard stopped them from boarding the boat with his hands held out haltingly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“We’re here for Mr. Sarfas’ party,” Root said.

“I don’t think so,” he said, words heavy with his accent. “Who exactly are you?”

Root gave Shaw a prompting look, spurring her into action.

Shaw tried to recall the audio clip and said, “Krista Balodis.”

“Balodis,” the guard repeated slowly, now focusing his attention on Shaw. “Weren't you supposed to have arrived a few hours ago?”

“We got held up,” Root interjected.

“And who’s she?” the guard nodded at Root.

“She’s my assistant,” Shaw said, emulating the accent as best as she could.

“Well, I’m going to have to search her,” he said, reaching for her jacket.

“Don’t touch her,” Shaw said threateningly and stepped closer, flinty glare boring into him.

Clearly intimidated, the guard stepped away slightly, hands falling back to his sides.

“I can’t let you on-“

Root pried the bottle of whiskey from Shaw’s hand with some effort before presenting it to the guard.

“Just a little gift,” Root said with a wink.

“I guess…” he said, trailing off, considering the exchange, “… it’ll be okay this one time.”

After all, how much damage could two women do to a mobbed up party?

* * *

It was the middle of February, but Root managed to sweet-talk the captain of the boat into leaving the dock for a slight joy ride.

Amidst the confusion of the Latvians, Shaw decided it was a good time to commandeer the boat.

“Hey, morons,” Shaw yelled, firing her gun once into the air. “Shut up!”

It was mostly effective - scaring the party-goers into a stunned silence.

One particularly misguided guest attempted to draw his weapon only to be kneecapped by Root almost immediately.

Damn, Shaw thought. That was kind of hot-

She refocused on the task at hand and pointed her pistol at Sarfas.

“Tell everyone to jump overboard,” Shaw demanded.

“What? Are you crazy?” he shrieked.

Shaw shot the floorboards right next to his foot, and he stumbled back, cowering now.

“Okay, okay!”

He shouted in Latvian to his guests.

Root and Shaw watched with matching satisfaction as one by one the mob members dove into the freezing Hudson.

“So… we need your help with something,” Root said, leaning against the railing, one gun aimed at Sarfas’ chest. “If you don’t mind, of course,” she said sweetly.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Roman Sarfas,” Root said. “Sixty-one, originally from Riga. You came to the States in ’79 with your mother and younger brother – though they both died tragically when local gangs shot up your neighborhood two years later. Joined up with the Latvian mob in ’86 and quickly established yourself as a trustworthy lieutenant.”

She paused, information streaming into her ear.

“And,” she continued with a wide smile, “you’re currently working through a plot to infiltrate the Brotherhood involving human trafficking and a contact named Eran. Naughty.”

Shaw particularly enjoyed the growing fear and anger in Roman’s eyes.

“I could go on,” Root shrugged nonchalantly as if the information she’d rattled off was common knowledge.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Concerned citizen,” Root said. “I know one of your fences is in town for another two days, and I’d like to make a sale. Preferably now.”

Roman laughed, “You’re both psychos.”

Shaw pressed the muzzle of her gun against his temple and said, “Psychos with guns.”

“We've all got our flaws,” Root said lightly.

Reaching into Roman’s coat pocket, Root fished his phone out and entered the passcode without hesitation. Her thumb swiped across the screen, dialing a particular contact’s number, and she selected speakerphone as the call rang.

“Careful how you answer,” Shaw said, emphasizing her point by jabbing the gun once against the side of his head, “or you’ll be eating something other than birthday cake.”

“ _Klausos_.”

His throat bobbed nervously as he answered, “It’s Roman.”

“ _What do you need?_ ”

“I've got a couple of friends looking to use your services,” he said, watching Shaw’s reaction closely.

“ _Of course. As long as they know the rules._ ”

“Of course,” Roman echoed gruffly. “It has to be tonight though.”

“ _Must be good friends of yours, Roman_.”

“They certainly made quite the first impression.”

The corners of Root’s eyes crinkled at that.

“ _Okay. Our usual meeting place in an hour._ ”

“Got it,” he said as Root disconnected the call.

“Where is this ‘usual meeting place’?” Root asked.

“It’s at the-“

“I wasn't talking to you,” she interrupted, expression reverent as the Machine replied.

“Annoying as shit, isn't she?” Shaw commiserated.

* * *

With some help from her ASI other half, Root steered the yacht towards the opposite side of the river and into New Jersey. The bow of the boat crashed into the wooden boards of the dock, and Root sauntered off the boat and onto the platform, ignoring the small crowd gathering.

Shaw knocked Roman out with the butt of her gun and stalked after her.

“Where to now?” Shaw asked, jogging to catch up to Root’s longer strides.

“48th Street LLC,” Root said. “She says it’s a warehouse.”

“What's the game plan?”

“So many questions today, Shaw,” Root said, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. From her jacket pocket, Root pulled out the small pouch she’d taken from the club safe, “She wants us to sell this.”

Shaw raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Just some dead woman’s stolen jewelry.”

“You stole a dead woman's stuff,” Shaw said, unable to keep the amusement from her tone.

“Technically I stole from the person who stole from her,” Root said as unflappable as ever.

“And it’s worth a lot?”

“Unbeknownst to any of the previous owners, a few of these pieces belonged to the Empress Dowager Cixi,” Root said. “And the fence is quite the expert on Qing dynasty valuables. He most recently bought a Qing porcelain vase from an Austrian collector for a quarter of its worth.”

“Okay, so we sell the stuff to him,” Shaw said. “Why?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Of course you don’t,” Shaw said and rolled her eyes.

“Trust Her, Sam,” Root said.

* * *

Large multi-colored metal crates lined the walls of the dimly-lit warehouse, and the Machine buzzed in Root’s ear, describing the illegally-obtained contents of each one.

At the entrance three heavily armed guards stopped Root and Shaw’s approach with their submachine guns pointed directly at the two women.

“Merchandise?” the tallest guard asked gruffly.

Root emptied the contents of the pouch into her palm. Out spilled three pieces of jade jewelry: a small decorative pendant and two intricately carved rings.

“Guns?” he further prompted, holding a hand out expectantly.

They each handed one pistol over which was met with a satisfactory nod. The three guards broke their arrow formation, allowing them to pass, and followed closely after.

In the center of the warehouse, a lone man sat at a table, busy with examining various baubles under a professional scope.

“You must be Roman’s friends,” he said without so much as a glance upwards.

“That’s one word for it,” Shaw said, keeping a close eye on the accompanying guards.

“And what do you have for me?”

“Just a few trinkets,” Root said, extending her hand forward.

The fence took the pieces from Root’s palm delicately and examined them closely one by one. As he did so, his hired muscle craned their necks in interest. Root tilted her head ever so slightly, indicating that she was listening to the Machine’s whispers.

“You’re a hard man to find, Kieran,” Root said suddenly. The split second before Root reached for her hidden second gun, Shaw instinctively went for her own spare.

Root and Shaw each kneecapped the guard closest to them, and the remaining man rushed at Root, arm reeled back, knife in hand. Shaw could feel her head pounding with adrenaline as she disarmed him, fist striking his jaw – pure satisfaction rushing through her veins.

Root kicked the various weaponry out of the incapacitated guards’ reach.

The fence – Kieran – made a run for it, but Shaw easily hooked her foot around his leg and yanked backwards, causing him to topple face first onto the cement.

“Nuh uh,” Shaw said mockingly.

Root stepped forward, boots clicking against the floor with each step, and said, “Sorry about that.” She kneeled and pulled him into a sitting position so that she was eye level with him and continued with the tip of her gun digging into his chest, “But we need your help.”

Kieran stared back at her defiantly, red dripping from his nose, and said nothing.

“You met with a man named Link just a few hours ago in the Brotherhood’s current base of operations,” Root said. “He gave you a key of some sort.”

Still, he gave no outward reaction.

“I need it,” Root said, accentuating her words. When that still didn't yield any positive results, Root chuckled and turned to Shaw, “Where’s an iron when you need one?”

Shaw rolled her eyes and bent over to withdraw her boot knife. She grabbed Kieran’s left hand and pressed the blade against his knuckle, blood rising to the surface.

“Which fingers do you think you can live without?”

This time his lips trembled, and he said, “You wouldn't…”

Impassively, Shaw pushed down, knife slicing into his skin, and he let out a pained gasp.

“Shit! It’s in my car, in the glove compartment,” Kieran said, panic bubbling up. “It’s a key fob of some sort. A triangle, a-“

Shaw knocked him out with a swift kick to the chin, his teeth crashing together audibly.

Root raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Shaw asked, a little defensive. “He was babbling.”

“Just admiring your methods,” Root said.

“Whatever,” Shaw said, retrieving her knife from its embedded position in Kieran’s hand. She wiped the blood off on his jacket. “Just don’t tell Finch about it.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Root said as she extracted a set of car keys from the inner pocket of Kieran’s jacket.

“What about the jewelry?” Shaw asked as Root straightened.

“Hey, Honey Nut Cheerios, what did you do this time?” a familiar voice yelled out from the entrance.

“Lionel,” Root greeted pleasantly.

“Aw geez,” Fusco said, surveying the damage. “Is this your guys’ messed up idea of a date or something?”

“No,” Shaw said, scowling.

“Oh Sameen,” Root said smugly, “what’s more romantic than shooting up a warehouse full of criminals on Valentine’s Day?” Her mouth curved into an infuriating smirk. “Not to mention hijacking that yacht.”

“You did what?” Fusco asked, eyes bulging out.

“And stealing some Chinese royal jewelry,” Root added.

“I don’t want to know,” Fusco decided.

“Oh, by the way, you’ll want this,” Root handed him the USB she’d taken from the club. “Proof of the Latvian mob’s involvement in the human trafficking business.”

“Great,” Fusco said. “Just great. How am I supposed to explain any of this to my captain?”

“Use your imagination, Lionel,” Shaw said with a patronizing pat on his shoulder.

* * *

Root retrieved the key – a triangle fob as described – from Kieran’s glove compartment as Shaw took her place in the driver’s seat. The Machine brought up GPS on the car’s touch screen, highlighting a specific route towards one of the local colleges. Upon arriving at their destination, Root led the way to the administration building.

Under direction from the Machine, they continued down the steps to the storage level, handguns drawn and at the ready.

A large and heavily tattooed man stepped out, Glock raised and pointed directly at Root-

_Bang!_

Shaw stepped over his prone body, ignoring his shriek of pain, and advanced on the two Brotherhood members coming around the corner. In her periphery, she spotted Root holding off her own group of assailants. Together, Root and Shaw ducked behind the front desk, bullets quickly riddling the wood.

For a good minute or two, the air was filled solely with the sound of gunfire and the click of mags of being reloaded. Shaw crouched low and peeked out of cover to take down two of the four remaining attackers.

Distracted by Shaw on one end of the desk, the Brotherhood gangsters neglected to notice Root at the other end, dual pistols each firing twice to subdue them.

After a moment of absolute silence, Root nodded, “All clear.”

Shaw flipped the nearby light switch on, illuminating the area to reveal rows and rows of weapon caches.

As they walked down the aisle, Shaw asked, “Why did the Machine send us on a wild goose chase if it knew this was the final destination all along?”

“I’m guessing this is important,” Root said and held up the key fob, awaiting the Machine’s instructions. At the end of the row, they were met with a locked door with a large red sign proclaiming _Staff Only._

A slow smirk broke across Root’s face.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Root asked Shaw, offering up the triangular fob.

Shaw pried the plastic from Root’s fingers and pressed it against the scanner, a matching smile coming to her lips as the light turned green. Root slid the door open without difficulty to find a computer sat atop a long metal bench and a large box settled in the corner.

“Look inside the box,” Root said distractedly as she connected her phone to the desktop with an already provided cord.

Knife in hand, Shaw sliced through the duct tape and ripped the flaps up.

“A present from the Machine,” Root said, eyes still glued to the computer screen.

Shaw pulled out a heavy case, setting it on the bench with a loud thump.

“Is this what I think it is?” Shaw asked, unable to hide her excitement.

“Maybe.”

Shaw lifted the latch of the case, propping it open against the wall, and ran her hands down the length of the contents.

“The M136 AT4 unguided light anti-tank recoilless launcher system,” Root said. “I hear you’re familiar with it.”

“Oh, I am,” Shaw said, grinning like a six year old in a candy store.

Root unplugged her phone and said, “We should head out before the reinforcements arrive.”

“Or we could test this baby out.”

“As fun as that sounds,” Root said, “you’ll probably want to save it for another occasion.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re killing the mood,” Shaw waved off as she closed the case.

“I’m sure we can recreate it in other ways,” Root said lowly, heated gaze on Shaw.

Even that remark couldn't deflate Shaw's good mood. The Machine was a hell of a gift giver, that was for sure.

* * *

As they strode into the library, Bear came bounding up to greet Shaw, tail wagging happily. Shaw kneeled to play with him, hand caressing his neck affectionately as he nuzzled into her shoulder.

“I heard you and John had a lot of fun tonight,” Root said, approaching Finch’s desk.

Finch grimaced and said, “Wading through thirty yards of sewage is not exactly my definition of a ‘fun’ evening. But I suppose it was quite eventful.”

“Here’s a small Valentine’s Day present from the Machine to make up for it,” Root said and handed him her phone.

He picked it up – interest piqued.

“I uploaded a little something into the Brotherhood’s off-the-radar communications network,” she said. “You should be able to monitor them for the next three days before they’re able to manually reset.”

“This will be very useful indeed, Ms. Groves. Thank you,” Finch said, suitably impressed. Then more suspiciously, “Detective Fusco informed me that an anonymous tip led to the discovery of a sizable Brotherhood armory underneath the administration building tonight. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Sweet dreams, Harry,” Root said playfully, evading the question.

Shaw straightened as Root sauntered back over.

“Walk me home?” Root asked, throwing a flirtatious smile in Shaw’s direction.

“No.”

“It’s dark out,” Root said with a pout. “Who knows what kind of dangers are lurking behind every corner?”

“You’ll live,” Shaw said darkly.

Undeterred, Root leaned into Shaw so that their shoulders were brushing and said, “How about a late dinner then?”

Eyes narrowed, Shaw scrutinized Root’s expression, trying to discern her motives.

“I’ll pay.”

“Fine,” Shaw relented. “But no talking.”

* * *

It turned out that Root was more than content to sit in silence and watch Shaw devour her meal.

Shaw really should've known better.

But a good steak with quality scotch?

She’d let Root have this one.

* * *

“Are you going to invite me in?” Root asked smugly as they reached Shaw’s front door.

In her defense, Shaw had only let Root follow her because getting rid of her would've taken more effort than she was willing to expend.

She let her glare serve as an answer.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Shaw,” Root said, smile wavering slightly in disappointment as she turned to leave.

 _Ugh, fine_ , Shaw thought. Robbery, multiple vehicle thefts, grand yacht larceny, good old-fashioned violence, and a delicious dinner; it was easily in her top ten - fine, top five - Valentine’s Day celebrations.

Shaw grabbed Root’s sleeve and pulled her back roughly for a bruising kiss. She swallowed Root’s sound of surprise and pressed her against the door hard, hand twisting the knob.

They separated as Root stumbled backwards into the apartment.

“Sure, Root,” Shaw exhaled hotly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

They crashed back together, hands moving desperately, mouths hungry.

(Okay, so it was surely the best 'date' she'd ever been on, but she didn't want Root to have the satisfaction of knowing.

Root’s smile against her lips indicated she knew anyway.)

**Author's Note:**

> The Machine definitely ships it~
> 
> Thanks for reading - hope you enjoyed.


End file.
